Queen Irene and Goddess Obsidian are fresh from a workout, still flushed and sweaty in Their tight little booty shorts, and They've already made the slave worship Their filthy, sweat-soaked socks until it gagged on the stink. Now They want its face. It's cuffed behind its back, blindfolded, collared and leashed, and flat on the floor. Each Goddess holds a wicked riding crop, and it's about to find out how much They enjoy using them.

Queen Irene goes first. She stands over its face and takes Her time, letting it hear Her laughing above it and letting it feel the heat coming off Her before She lowers Her round, perfect ass right down onto it. The damp white shorts are stretched tight across Her cheeks, and She drops Her full weight. Its nose and mouth vanish between Her cheeks and its airways seal shut.

Fifteen seconds. It bucks and kicks against the carpet while She sits there like it's a cushion, wiggling Her hips to get comfortable and grinding Herself deeper over its mouth.

Goddess Obsidian isn't going to let the moment go to waste. She climbs onto its chest in Her sweaty white socks and stands there, the leash chain in one hand and the crop in the other, pressing Her weight down on its ribs every time it tries to heave in air that isn't there. She yanks the collar tight to pull its face harder up into Irene's ass. Then She steps down onto its stomach and grinds Her sock into it until it squirms, and takes the crop across its thighs just to hear the muffled yelp come out from under Irene.

"Did I say you could move?"

When Irene finally lifts off, it's gasping and choking, and it doesn't get to catch its breath.

"Thank Her. Now."

"Thank you Queen Irene for sitting on my worthless face with your perfect ass! Please smother me even longer this time!"

"I can't fucking hear you. How long do you want me to sit on your face with my perfect ass?"

It screams it louder. Still not good enough. Every answer is too quiet, too slow, not grateful enough, and every failure earns the crop. Both Goddesses lay stripe after stripe across its chest, stomach and thighs, laughing at how it jerks and howls, until its body is covered in angry red welts and it's shrieking out its gratitude just to make the whipping stop.

Then it's Goddess Obsidian's turn. She straddles its head, sinks Her sweaty little shorts down over its mouth, and settles in with Her whole weight, knees pinning its head to the floor. Its chest heaves under Her and its cuffed hands claw uselessly at the carpet.

Queen Irene relaxes back on the couch like She's watching TV and props Her bare feet up on it as Her personal foot rest. She crosses Her ankles on its stomach, digs Her heel into its crotch, and flexes Her toes against its boxers while it chokes. Every time its hips jerk from lack of air, She presses down harder and taps the crop against its welts, slow and bored.

"Stop squirming. You're ruining my foot rest."

She counts out loud, lazily, taunting it the whole way through while it thrashes under Obsidian's ass.

"Still breathing? Guess She needs to sit longer."

Every round is longer than the last. Every round it has to beg louder for the next one, and every round the begging gets rejected. Every round the other Goddess finds a new way to use it while it's trapped. She stands on its chest in Her dirty socks, uses its stomach and crotch as a foot rest, drags the leash to pull its face up tighter into the ass sealing it shut, and whips the crop down on welts that are already raw. It never gets a second where only one of Them is using it.

By the end it's buried under a young, sweat-damp ass for seventy full seconds, blind, cuffed, leashed and whipped raw. One Goddess seals its airways shut with Her full weight, the other stands on its body and cracks the crop across its thighs, and it's thrashing on the carpet with two Goddesses fresh from the gym treating its face as a seat, its body as furniture and its breathing as something They hand out when They feel like it.

It only breathes when They decide it's begged well enough.

So far it hasn't.

Queen Irene and Goddess Obsidian are fresh from a workout, still flushed and sweaty in Their tight little booty shorts, and They've already made the slave worship Their filthy, sweat-soaked socks until it gagged on the stink. Now They want its face. It's cuffed behind its back, blindfolded, collared and leashed, and flat on the floor. Each Goddess holds a wicked riding crop, and it's about to find out how much They enjoy using them.

Queen Irene goes first. She stands over its face and takes Her time, letting it hear Her laughing above it and letting it feel the heat coming off Her before She lowers Her round, perfect ass right down onto it. The damp white shorts are stretched tight across Her cheeks, and She drops Her full weight. Its nose and mouth vanish between Her cheeks and its airways seal shut.

Fifteen seconds. It bucks and kicks against the carpet while She sits there like it's a cushion, wiggling Her hips to get comfortable and grinding Herself deeper over its mouth.

Goddess Obsidian isn't going to let the moment go to waste. She climbs onto its chest in Her sweaty white socks and stands there, the leash chain in one hand and the crop in the other, pressing Her weight down on its ribs every time it tries to heave in air that isn't there. She yanks the collar tight to pull its face harder up into Irene's ass. Then She steps down onto its stomach and grinds Her sock into it until it squirms, and takes the crop across its thighs just to hear the muffled yelp come out from under Irene.

"Did I say you could move?"

When Irene finally lifts off, it's gasping and choking, and it doesn't get to catch its breath.

"Thank Her. Now."

"Thank you Queen Irene for sitting on my worthless face with your perfect ass! Please smother me even longer this time!"

"I can't fucking hear you. How long do you want me to sit on your face with my perfect ass?"

It screams it louder. Still not good enough. Every answer is too quiet, too slow, not grateful enough, and every failure earns the crop. Both Goddesses lay stripe after stripe across its chest, stomach and thighs, laughing at how it jerks and howls, until its body is covered in angry red welts and it's shrieking out its gratitude just to make the whipping stop.

Then it's Goddess Obsidian's turn. She straddles its head, sinks Her sweaty little shorts down over its mouth, and settles in with Her whole weight, knees pinning its head to the floor. Its chest heaves under Her and its cuffed hands claw uselessly at the carpet.

Queen Irene relaxes back on the couch like She's watching TV and props Her bare feet up on it as Her personal foot rest. She crosses Her ankles on its stomach, digs Her heel into its crotch, and flexes Her toes against its boxers while it chokes. Every time its hips jerk from lack of air, She presses down harder and taps the crop against its welts, slow and bored.

"Stop squirming. You're ruining my foot rest."

She counts out loud, lazily, taunting it the whole way through while it thrashes under Obsidian's ass.

"Still breathing? Guess She needs to sit longer."

Every round is longer than the last. Every round it has to beg louder for the next one, and every round the begging gets rejected. Every round the other Goddess finds a new way to use it while it's trapped. She stands on its chest in Her dirty socks, uses its stomach and crotch as a foot rest, drags the leash to pull its face up tighter into the ass sealing it shut, and whips the crop down on welts that are already raw. It never gets a second where only one of Them is using it.

By the end it's buried under a young, sweat-damp ass for seventy full seconds, blind, cuffed, leashed and whipped raw. One Goddess seals its airways shut with Her full weight, the other stands on its body and cracks the crop across its thighs, and it's thrashing on the carpet with two Goddesses fresh from the gym treating its face as a seat, its body as furniture and its breathing as something They hand out when They feel like it.

It only breathes when They decide it's begged well enough.

So far it hasn't.

The dungeon glows with deep red light. A muscular slave is tightly strapped face-up to the heavy bondage bench, wrists and ankles locked, thick black blindfold covering its eyes, and its pathetic cock locked in a tiny steel chastity cage that has been on for an entire week.

Queen Irene (shiny red PVC bikini top barely containing her breasts, black PVC shorts, long red PVC gloves, black leather flogger in hand) and Goddess Obsidian (skin-tight black PVC romper with a high-cut thong, riding crop ready) stand over their new piece of furniture.

Irene cracks the flogger across its stomach. “Look at it, Obsidian. This thing’s cock has been locked for a week and it still thinks it deserves attention. It will never fuck a pussy again. Today it learns its only purpose is to serve our superior pussies.”

She brings the riding crop down hard on its inner thighs, leaving bright red marks. “Got that, it? Thank your Owners for this honor.” The slave whimpers, “Thank you, Queen! Thank you, Goddess!”

Irene steps over its head and drops her full weight down, centering her crotch perfectly over its mouth and nose. Her legs hang straight down on either side of the bench, feet completely off the floor. The warm, damp black PVC shorts press tightly, completely sealing its airways under her pussy. “Sniff it, furniture. Smell the pussy you exist to worship.” Even through the steel cage, the rich scent of her pussy makes its locked peanut twitch and strain painfully, desperate but denied.

Goddess Obsidian laughs and whips its chest while Irene smothers it. “It’s already trying to get hard just from our scent. How pathetic. Furniture doesn’t get hard — it just serves.”

They take turns. Obsidian lowers herself and plants her full weight directly onto its face, centering her pussy and ass so it is completely engulfed. Her legs lift, feet dangling freely — every ounce of her body sealing its airways under her superior pussy. Its face is smashed deep into her crotch, showing it exactly how completely her pussy controls its breath. While one Goddess smothers it with long, escalating holds, the other sits on its chest or stomach and whips its locked cock, laughing as the cage twitches from the overwhelming pussy scent.

They rotate for several minutes, increasing the time until its world is nothing but their pussies and total denial.

Finally, they strap a double-sided dildo gag deep into its mouth. Irene pins its chest while Obsidian pulls her thong aside, sinks down onto the dildo, and rides its face hard. “Fuck my pussy with your face, it. Move!” Irene whips its body without mercy as Obsidian uses its head to pleasure herself, grinding until she cums hard, flooding the gag and its face with her juices.

They remove the gag and shove the cum-covered dildo down its throat. “Swallow every drop of superior pussy juice, it. You will never waste any.”

The Goddesses finish with long, full-weight facesits — legs dangling, crotches perfectly sealed, reminding it that its only purpose is to serve as their living furniture. Obsidian stands, adjusts her thong, and spits on its face. “We’re going to find real men now, it. Stay locked and useless.”

The camera lingers on the broken, juice-covered, whip-marked piece of furniture still strapped helplessly to the bench as the two Goddesses walk away laughing.

Le piège est tendu

La Reine Irene attire le pervers du campus sur son canapé, battant des cils alors qu'il entre d'un pas arrogant en fanfaronnant : « Tu vas être ma salope soumise. » Il croit avoir le contrôle — jusqu'à ce que la porte s'ouvre brusquement. La Déesse Obsidienne fait son entrée, un fouet à la main, ses yeux sombres brillants de fureur glaciale. « Non », murmure-t-elle, sa voix dégoulinante de venin, « TOI, tu vas être notre salope soumise. » Elle jette un téléphone sur la table basse — son téléphone. L'écran diffuse des images accablantes : lui-même récupérant sa caméra illégale dans les vestiaires féminins de l’équipe de volley-ball, souriant fièrement tandis qu’il empochait cet appareil ayant violé l’intimité de nombreuses Femmes Supérieures. Son visage devient livide. La Reine Irene se penche vers lui, Sa voix pareille à une lame enveloppée de soie : « Tu iras en prison et là-bas, tu seras la salope de quelqu’un… à moins que tu fasses exactement ce que nous t’ordonnons. » La pièce s'alourdit sous le poids de sa ruine imminente. Pas de négociation possible. Seule subsiste la soumission.

La descente commence

Elles l’obligent à tomber à genoux, puis à plat ventre sur l’épais tapis blanc — son nouveau domaine. Les menottes cliquent autour de ses poignets, le ligotant pendant que commence la première leçon. « Tu dois apprendre à respecter les femmes », déclare la Déesse Obsidienne, « et tu commenceras par le bas — avec nos pieds. » La Reine Irene pose Son pied nu sur son dos, pressant fermement contre sa colonne vertébrale pour tester sa résistance. « Tu fais un excellent tapis », remarque-t-elle distraitement, changeant de position, écrasant son talon dans ses côtes. Une autre Déesse rejoint, posant son pied chaussé d’une stiletto sur son omoplate. Il grimace, mais l'humiliation véritable n’a même pas encore débuté.

L’odeur sacrée de la supériorité

La Reine Irene s’enfonce dans le canapé, plaçant Ses pieds moites et puants — enfermés dans des chaussettes blanches — directement devant son visage. « Sens-les », ordonne-t-elle en remuant Ses orteils peints en rouge foncé. « Sens la sueur de Mes pieds sacrés, espèce de merde. À partir de maintenant, tu es notre larbin aux pieds. » Elle enfonce le tissu humide contre son nez, Sa voix tranchante de mépris : « Je n’entends pas renifler, putain ! » Ses narines frémissent tandis que l’âcre odeur de Sa domination emplit ses poumons, celle de la transpiration d'une Déesse après l’effort — son entraînement de volley-ball, Sa suprématie — désormais sa punition. La Déesse Obsidienne reste debout sur son corps prostré, pesant de tout son poids sur sa poitrine, tandis que la Reine Irene lui arrache la chaussette avec les dents, étirant le tissu sale entre ses lèvres comme une laisse. Elle agite la chaussette crasseuse sous son nez. « Sens-la », gronde-t-elle. Il obéit, inhalant cette puanteur âpre et salée, fruit du travail de Son pied. Puis, ricanant cruellement, Elle la fourre dans sa bouche. « Garde-la là. C’est ton nouveau goût. »

Le bain de langue

Elles changent de place. La Reine Irene chevauche son torse, Ses cuisses serrant ses côtes, tandis que la Déesse Obsidienne monte sur le canapé, Son pied couvert d’une chaussette moite planant au-dessus de son visage. « Renifle Mes chaussettes suantes, larbin aux pieds », commande-t-elle en appuyant la semelle contre lui. Il gémit, mais l’autre option est la prison. Elle lui fait retirer la chaussette avec la bouche, puis ordonne : « Sors ta langue. » Il obéit, et Elle passe lentement le tissu sale dessus, maculant ses papilles gustatives de toute la crasse accumulée durant la journée. « Maintenant, retire-la — avec tes dents. » Il mâchonne désespérément le tissu comme un chien affamé, sa dignité disparaissant fil après fil. Mais Elle n'en a pas fini. « Sors ta langue, tapis vivant », grogne-t-elle en plantant Son pied nu et luisant contre elle. Elle essuie Son pied de haut en bas sur sa langue comme si c’était un chiffon, la sueur d’une Déesse devenant désormais partie intégrante de son alimentation permanente. La Reine Irene prend Son tour, Son pied glissant sur sa langue, Son rire résonnant tandis qu’il suffoque sous le goût amer de sa propre infériorité.

Le pilonnage de gorge

La Déesse Obsidienne n'est pas satisfaite de ses performances lamentables. « Ouvre ta putain de gueule », aboie-t-elle, mais il hésite. Elle saisit sa mâchoire, forçant sa bouche grande ouverte, pendant que la Reine Irene y insère Son pied, appuyant fort jusqu’à ce que sa gorge gonfle. De la salive coule le long de son menton alors Qu'elle baise sa bouche, Ses orteils se recroquevillant contre sa langue. La Déesse Obsidienne plaque ses deux pieds de chaque côté de sa tête, l’immobilisant complètement, tandis que la Reine Irene possède sa gorge, Son pied allant et venant comme un piston. Il gargouille, les larmes ruisselant sur ses joues, mais la Déesse sourit seulement. « Voilà, avale tout, salope. » Puis Elle inverse les rôles : la Déesse Obsidienne monte sur le canapé, remplaçant le pied de la Reine Irene. Elle écrase fermement Sa plante dans sa bouche, le forçant à vomir plusieurs fois, Ses ongles peints en blanc façon french manucure s’enfonçant dans son torse pour bien lui rappeler : « C’est ça qui arrive aux hommes qui manquent de respect aux Femmes. »

Le tapis humain

Épuisé et brisé, il gît étalé sous elles, utilisé comme repose-pieds, tandis qu’elles préparent leur prochain mouvement. Les orteils vernis en rouge sombre de la Reine Irene s’enfoncent dans sa gorge, tandis que les ongles blancs en pointe française de la Déesse Obsidienne appuient sur sa poitrine. « Nous n’avons pas encore terminé avec toi », murmure-t-elle en faisant tournoyer Son fouet. « Mais pour l’instant… tu es notre tapis. » La caméra s’attarde sur son visage défait, strié de larmes, tandis que les deux Déesses échangent un regard entendu. Son sort est scellé. Il n’est plus un homme. Il est une propriété. Et sa nouvelle fonction consiste à vénérer les pieds qui ont broyé son ego jusque dans la poussière.

Le piège est tendu

La reine Irene attire le pervers du campus sur son canapé, battant des cils alors qu'il entre d'un pas arrogant en fanfaronnant : « Tu vas être ma salope soumise. » Il pense avoir le contrôle — jusqu'à ce que la porte s'ouvre brusquement. La déesse Obsidienne fait son entrée, un fouet à la main, ses yeux sombres brillants de fureur glaciale. « Non, » murmure-t-elle, sa voix suintant de venin, « TOI, tu vas être notre salope soumise. » Elle jette un téléphone sur la table basse — son téléphone. L'écran diffuse des images accablantes : lui-même récupérant sa caméra illégale dans les vestiaires féminins de l’équipe de volley-ball, souriant fièrement tandis qu’il empochait cet appareil ayant violé l’intimité de nombreuses Femmes Supérieures. Son visage devient livide. La reine Irene se penche vers lui, sa voix pareille à une lame enveloppée de soie : « Tu iras en prison et là-bas, tu seras la salope de quelqu’un… à moins que tu fasses exactement ce qu’on te dit. » La pièce s’alourdit sous le poids de sa ruine imminente. Aucune négociation possible. Seule reste la soumission.

La descente commence

Elles l’obligent à tomber à genoux, puis à plat ventre sur l’épais tapis blanc — son nouveau domaine. Les menottes cliquent autour de ses poignets, le ligotant pendant que commence la première leçon. « Tu dois apprendre à respecter les femmes », déclare la déesse Obsidienne, « et tu commenceras par le bas — avec nos pieds. » La reine Irene pose son pied nu sur son dos, pressant fermement contre sa colonne vertébrale pour tester sa résistance. « Tu fais un excellent tapis », remarque-t-elle distraitement, changeant de position, écrasant son talon dans ses côtes. Une autre déesse s’avance, posant son pied chaussé d’un escarpin aiguille sur son omoplate. Il grimace, mais l’humiliation véritable n’a même pas encore débuté.

L’odeur sacrée de la supériorité

La reine Irene s’enfonce dans le canapé, plaçant Ses pieds moites et puants — enfermés dans des chaussettes blanches — directement devant son visage. « Sens-les », ordonne-t-elle en remuant Ses orteils peints en rouge foncé. « Sens la sueur de Mes pieds sacrés, espèce de merde. Désormais, tu seras notre esclave aux pieds. » Elle enfonce le tissu humide contre son nez, Sa voix tranchante de mépris : « Je n’entends pas renifler, putain ! » Ses narines frémissent pendant que l’âcre odeur de Sa domination emplit ses poumons, celle de l’effort divin d’une déesse — Son entraînement de volley-ball, Sa suprématie — désormais sa punition. La déesse Obsidienne se tient debout sur son corps prostré, pesant de tout son poids sur sa poitrine, tandis que la reine Irene lui fait retirer Sa chaussette avec les dents, étirant le tissu entre ses lèvres comme une laisse. Elle agite la chaussette sale juste devant son visage. « Sens-la », crache-t-elle. Il obéit, inhalant la puanteur âpre et salée du travail de Son pied. Puis, ricanant cruellement, Elle la fourre dans sa bouche. « Garde-la là. C’est ta nouvelle saveur. »

Le bain de langue

Elles changent de place. La reine Irene chevauche son torse, Ses cuisses serrant ses côtes, tandis que la déesse Obsidienne monte sur le canapé, Son pied couvert de chaussette transpirante planant au-dessus de son visage. « Renifle Mes chaussettes moites, esclave des pieds », ordonne-t-elle en pressant la semelle contre lui. Il gémit, mais l’autre option est la prison. Elle lui fait ôter la chaussette avec la bouche, puis commande : « Sors ta langue. » Il obéit, et Elle passe lentement le tissu sale dessus, répandant la crasse accumulée durant la journée sur ses papilles gustatives. « Maintenant, retire-la — avec tes dents. » Il mâchonne fébrilement le tissu tel un chien affamé, sa dignité disparaissant fil après fil. Mais Elle n’en a pas fini. « Sors ta langue, tapis vivant », gronde-t-elle en plantant Son pied nu et luisant directement dessus. Elle essuie Son pied de haut en bas sur sa langue comme si elle utilisait un chiffon, la sueur divine devenant désormais partie intégrante de son alimentation permanente. La reine Irene prend ensuite le relais, glissant Son pied sur sa langue, Son rire retentissant alors qu’il suffoque sous le goût amer de son infériorité.

Le pilonnage de gorge

La déesse Obsidienne n’est pas satisfaite de ses performances lamentables. « Ouvre ta putain de gueule », aboie-t-elle, mais il hésite. Elle saisit sa mâchoire, forçant sa bouche grande ouverte pendant que la reine Irene y insère Son pied, appuyant jusqu’à ce que sa gorge gonfle. De la salive coule le long de son menton pendant qu’elle baise sa bouche, Ses orteils se recroquevillant contre sa langue. La déesse Obsidienne plante chacun de Ses pieds de chaque côté de sa tête, l’immobilisant complètement, tandis que la reine Irene possède sa gorge, Son pied allant et venant comme un piston. Il gargouille, les larmes inondant ses joues, mais la déesse sourit seulement. « Voilà, avale tout, salope. » Ensuite, elles échangent. La déesse Obsidienne monte sur le canapé, remplaçant le pied de la reine Irene. Elle écrase fermement la semelle de Son pied dans sa bouche, le forçant à vomir plusieurs fois, Ses ongles vernis blanc french s'enfonçant dans son torse pour bien lui rappeler : « C’est ainsi que finissent les hommes qui manquent de respect aux femmes. »

Le tapis humain

Épuisé et brisé, il gît étendu sous elles, utilisé comme repose-pieds, tandis qu’elles préparent leur prochain mouvement. Les orteils rouges foncés de la reine Irene s’enfoncent dans sa gorge, tandis que les ongles blancs french de la déesse Obsidienne appuient sur sa poitrine. « Nous n’en avons pas encore terminé avec toi », murmure-t-elle en faisant tournoyer Son fouet. « Mais pour l’instant… tu es notre tapis. » La caméra s’attarde sur son visage défait, strié de larmes, tandis que les deux déesses échangent un regard entendu. Son sort est scellé. Il n’est plus un homme. Il est une propriété. Et sa nouvelle fonction consiste à vénérer les pieds ayant broyé son ego jusque dans la poussière.

Queen Irene's professor comes by to help tutor Her in a class She's fallen behind in, but She lost track of time and forgot; She was in the middle of a grueling workout when the prof came by. She apologizes for being so sweaty, as She sits down with him wearing just a skimpy yoga top and neon yellow yoga pants with black, sweat-soaked socks. The professor notices and Queen Irene says:

"One of my friends told Me My feet were smelly years ago and now I have a complex. Will you smell them for Me and make sure they don't smell bad?"

He is mesmerized by Her sweaty, black sock covered feet and touches them as She pushes one up into his face:

"Smell it....good, now deeply. Really inhale the essence fully. Do they smell bad?"

"No, they smell....wonderful"

"So you like My feet?"

"Oh my good YES...they're beautiful, they smell amazing...and ..."

"Would you like to serve My feet?"

"Oh my god, yes, definitely!"

"Then get on your knees in front of me"

She puts Her black, sweat-soaked socks into his face and nose, completely covering it with Her stinky socks.

"Smell them, sniff deeply"

He starts inhaling audibly over and over as She rubs them in his face. Then She tells him to take off his clothe and get on the ground. She has him strip down to his underwear and kneel in front of Her and puts a collar, leash and a pig mask on his head. She stands over him and. rubs each of Her sweaty socks into his face, making him stick his tongue out so She can use his tongue as a doormat. Then She sits on the sofa and has him open his mouth:

"Taste my dirty, sweaty sock, piggie....now the other one...which one tastes better?"

She makes him suck each dirty sock, pushing one down into his throat while She holds his head with Her other foot and begins logging him hard across his body. He tries to move his head to avoid the invading foot in his throat:
"Don't you DARE try to get away from my foot! Take my foot deeper down your pig throat and suck the sock clean!"

He is gagging and retching, trying to fit all Her sweaty toes into his mouth while She pulls on the leash. THen She puts both feet together and pries the pig's mouth open with Her toes:

"Ready for a sweaty sock sandwich? Open up, bitch"

She tries to push both feet down into the pigs throat, pulling hard on the leash as the clip fades out.

Queen Irene's professor comes by to help tutor Her in a class She's fallen behind in, but She lost track of time and forgot; She was in the middle of a grueling workout when the prof came by. She apologizes for being so sweaty, as She sits down with him wearing just a skimpy yoga top and neon yellow yoga pants with black, sweat-soaked socks. The professor notices and Queen Irene says:

"One of my friends told Me My feet were smelly years ago and now I have a complex. Will you smell them for Me and make sure they don't smell bad?"

He is mesmerized by Her sweaty, black sock covered feet and touches them as She pushes one up into his face:

"Smell it....good, now deeply. Really inhale the essence fully. Do they smell bad?"

"No, they smell....wonderful"

"So you like My feet?"

"Oh my good YES...they're beautiful, they smell amazing...and ..."

"Would you like to serve My feet?"

"Oh my god, yes, definitely!"

"Then get on your knees in front of me"

She puts Her black, sweat-soaked socks into his face and nose, completely covering it with Her stinky socks.

"Smell them, sniff deeply"

He starts inhaling audibly over and over as She rubs them in his face. Then She tells him to take off his clothe and get on the ground. She has him strip down to his underwear and kneel in front of Her and puts a collar, leash and a pig mask on his head. She stands over him and. rubs each of Her sweaty socks into his face, making him stick his tongue out so She can use his tongue as a doormat. Then She sits on the sofa and has him open his mouth:

"Taste my dirty, sweaty sock, piggie....now the other one...which one tastes better?"

She makes him suck each dirty sock, pushing one down into his throat while She holds his head with Her other foot and begins logging him hard across his body. He tries to move his head to avoid the invading foot in his throat:
"Don't you DARE try to get away from my foot! Take my foot deeper down your pig throat and suck the sock clean!"

He is gagging and retching, trying to fit all Her sweaty toes into his mouth while She pulls on the leash. THen She puts both feet together and pries the pig's mouth open with Her toes:

"Ready for a sweaty sock sandwich? Open up, bitch"

She tries to push both feet down into the pigs throat, pulling hard on the leash as the clip fades out.

Queen Irene's sissy had undergone its initial training, but Queen Irene feels the cunt needs to be brought down a peg or two. She's secured the bitch in twin spreader bars on the floor, wearing a black latex slave hood, secured in pink cuffs and collar, pretty pink sissy bra and matching pink satin camisole. She even put a pink, satin clitty-bonnet over it's pathetic excuse for a penis.

Queen Irene is seated above the bitch, glowering over imperiously. She wears fishnet stockings, a black PVC skirt, halter top and 5-inch, jet-black stilletto spike heels:

"You need to learn respect bitch, specifically for my perfect feet. I've worn these stockings and heels for a couple of days now...they're slimy and my feet are frankly disgusting. That's where you come in, foot whore. First lick my fucking shoe clean, cunt"

She extends Her shapely leg and pushes one of Her glossy black, 5-inch stiletto heels into its face. The slave licks up and down the sides, licks the soles clean, and then is ordered to remove the shoes with its teeth. She then places both sweaty, stinky and dirty stocking feet over the slave's face, completely nullifying it:

"Breathe in the smell of my sweaty, dirty feet slave. I want you to cherish EVERYTHING that comes from ME. Keep sniffing, pig"

She starts to smother the slave until its out of air and flailing away. She has the slave shower each foot with tiny kisses, like a lovers face. Then She gets a bit more serious:

"Open you whore mouth and keep your fucking tongue out"

She wipes Her grimy, slimy stinky foot on the slave's tongue, rubbing hard She wipes both feet on the slave's extended tongue.

"Swallow and thank Me for that honor you fucking $2 whore"

As soon as the bitch does, Queen Irene crams a stocking-clad foot into its mouth:

"Open up bitch! Now I want you take my ENTIRE FOOT down your throat. If you can't do it, we'll just have to keep trying"

She starts gagging poor slave, pulling on its leash to keep it from getting away from Her invading feet. She holds a foot behind the slave's head while stuffing the other foot into its mouth. The slave keeps choking and gagging, so She finally stops and smothers the slave again.

Queen Irene's sissy had undergone its initial training, but Queen Irene feels the cunt needs to be brought down a peg or two. She's secured the bitch in twin spreader bars on the floor, wearing a black latex slave hood, secured in pink cuffs and collar, pretty pink sissy bra and matching pink satin camisole. She even put a pink, satin clitty-bonnet over it's pathetic excuse for a penis.

Queen Irene is seated above the bitch, glowering over imperiously. She wears fishnet stockings, a black PVC skirt, halter top and 5-inch, jet-black stilletto spike heels:

"You need to learn respect bitch, specifically for my perfect feet. I've worn these stockings and heels for a couple of days now...they're slimy and my feet are frankly disgusting. That's where you come in, foot whore. First lick my fucking shoe clean, cunt"

She extends Her shapely leg and pushes one of Her glossy black, 5-inch stiletto heels into its face. The slave licks up and down the sides, licks the soles clean, and then is ordered to remove the shoes with its teeth. She then places both sweaty, stinky and dirty stocking feet over the slave's face, completely nullifying it:

"Breathe in the smell of my sweaty, dirty feet slave. I want you to cherish EVERYTHING that comes from ME. Keep sniffing, pig"

She starts to smother the slave until its out of air and flailing away. She has the slave shower each foot with tiny kisses, like a lovers face. Then She gets a bit more serious:

"Open you whore mouth and keep your fucking tongue out"

She wipes Her grimy, slimy stinky foot on the slave's tongue, rubbing hard She wipes both feet on the slave's extended tongue.

"Swallow and thank Me for that honor you fucking $2 whore"

As soon as the bitch does, Queen Irene crams a stocking-clad foot into its mouth:

"Open up bitch! Now I want you take my ENTIRE FOOT down your throat. If you can't do it, we'll just have to keep trying"

She starts gagging poor slave, pulling on its leash to keep it from getting away from Her invading feet. She holds a foot behind the slave's head while stuffing the other foot into its mouth. The slave keeps choking and gagging, so She finally stops and smothers the slave again.

Queen Irene has been helping out Her parents by doing some housekeeping at their boutique hotel while She's been on summer break. She's donned a sexy, black and white maid outfit and spike heels when a customer starts harassing Her and trying to grab Her. She politely refuses, and when he leaves for a moment She slips a mickey in his drink.

When he comes to, She has him in pink sissy lingerie, a latex bondage hood, a pink collar with rhinestones, and pink leg and wrist cuffs, the wrists attached to a red spreader bar. She is sitting on his chest and has changed out of the maid's outfit into a black, PVC halter top, skirt and perhaps the same black, stiletto, 5-inch spike heels. He starts sputtering, asking what's going on and finally recognizes Her:

"The maid? What the fuck? What are you doing to me?"

"You thought I was some dumb immigrant maid, huh? My parents own this hotel, and I'm just helping out. I'm gonna make you my sissy bitch. You're gonna find out what it feels like to be a vulnerable, submissive, and extremely feminine prissy, sissy girl."

"What the fuck? You're not gonna do fucking thing to me bitch, I'm gonna get even with you!"

She sits on his face, completely smothering him and sealing his airways. He starts making muffled screaming sounds, bucking wildly and trying to get free, but with his arms in the spreader bars and Her full weight on his face and arms, She easily keeps him pinned, pushing his arms back painfully as he struggles:

"There's nothing you can do bitch, you'd better understand who has the power right now and who doesn't. You're going to be a girl. You're going to talk, walk and suck cock just like a real girl does. Now repeat after Me, 'I am not a man, I am a prissy, sissy girl'"

"Fuck that! I'm not saying that BS! I'm a man!"

She sits back down on his face and starts smothering him again, but this time She starts whipping his thighs with a long, wicked, black and white riding crop, leaving painful, bright-red welts while She giggles at his muffled screams coming from under Her. She rises up again, leaving him coughing and gasping for air whlie She grabs some clothes pins. She sits back down on his face as he screeches in protest, and puts a little pink bonnet on his cock. Then She starts decorating it painfully with clothespin after clothespin. She lets off of hi again and asks him:

"Now, tell me who's not a man? Who's my pretty sissy girl?"

"I am not a man Queen Irene, I'm You pretty sissy girl"

"That's right, whore"

She says as She sits back down on the sissy's face. She keeps adding more clothespins, smothering the bitch for longer and longer times, and finally seems satisfied that She's broken the slave's will, at least for now.

She climbs off the slave and removes the clothespins from the slave's cock, which hurts even more. Laughing at the sissy's pain, She strolls out, warning the bitch that this is only the beginning.

Queen Irene has been helping out Her parents by doing some housekeeping at their boutique hotel while She's been on summer break. She's donned a sexy, black and white maid outfit and spike heels when a customer starts harassing Her and trying to grab Her. She politely refuses, and when he leaves for a moment She slips a mickey in his drink.

When he comes to, She has him in pink sissy lingerie, a latex bondage hood, a pink collar with rhinestones, and pink leg and wrist cuffs, the wrists attached to a red spreader bar. She is sitting on his chest and has changed out of the maid's outfit into a black, PVC halter top, skirt and perhaps the same black, stiletto, 5-inch spike heels. He starts sputtering, asking what's going on and finally recognizes Her:

"The maid? What the fuck? What are you doing to me?"

"You thought I was some dumb immigrant maid, huh? My parents own this hotel, and I'm just helping out. I'm gonna make you my sissy bitch. You're gonna find out what it feels like to be a vulnerable, submissive, and extremely feminine prissy, sissy girl."

"What the fuck? You're not gonna do fucking thing to me bitch, I'm gonna get even with you!"

She sits on his face, completely smothering him and sealing his airways. He starts making muffled screaming sounds, bucking wildly and trying to get free, but with his arms in the spreader bars and Her full weight on his face and arms, She easily keeps him pinned, pushing his arms back painfully as he struggles:

"There's nothing you can do bitch, you'd better understand who has the power right now and who doesn't. You're going to be a girl. You're going to talk, walk and suck cock just like a real girl does. Now repeat after Me, 'I am not a man, I am a prissy, sissy girl'"

"Fuck that! I'm not saying that BS! I'm a man!"

She sits back down on his face and starts smothering him again, but this time She starts whipping his thighs with a long, wicked, black and white riding crop, leaving painful, bright-red welts while She giggles at his muffled screams coming from under Her. She rises up again, leaving him coughing and gasping for air whlie She grabs some clothes pins. She sits back down on his face as he screeches in protest, and puts a little pink bonnet on his cock. Then She starts decorating it painfully with clothespin after clothespin. She lets off of hi again and asks him:

"Now, tell me who's not a man? Who's my pretty sissy girl?"

"I am not a man Queen Irene, I'm You pretty sissy girl"

"That's right, whore"

She says as She sits back down on the sissy's face. She keeps adding more clothespins, smothering the bitch for longer and longer times, and finally seems satisfied that She's broken the slave's will, at least for now.

She climbs off the slave and removes the clothespins from the slave's cock, which hurts even more. Laughing at the sissy's pain, She strolls out, warning the bitch that this is only the beginning.